


Naturalization

by TooFazed



Series: Dick Grayson x Blüdhaven Rogues [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Cock Warming, Cock sleeve, Come Inflation, Copious Amounts of Cum, DC Comics Rebirth, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Large Cock, M/M, Mild Gore, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Office Sex, Painful Sex, Revenge Sex, Size Difference, Torture, Transformation, Unrealistic Sex, stomach inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooFazed/pseuds/TooFazed
Summary: People love to ogle a handsome young man, and if they lose to said handsome young man, they want to spite him even more. A seamless never-ending cycle begins.
Relationships: Roland Desmond/Dick Grayson
Series: Dick Grayson x Blüdhaven Rogues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745593
Comments: 3
Kudos: 147





	Naturalization

**Author's Note:**

> _On Blüdhaven Breaking News:_ “Blockbuster busts Wayne Heir’s voluptuous ass!”
> 
> * * *
> 
> This friendly little ghost beseeches you: Read the tags carefully! 👻

“The boss wants to see you, Grayson.”

Dick rolls his eyes as he wipes his table down, carefully hiding his reaction from the shift manager. It’s two in the morning, he was just about to leave and don the Nightwing suit for the hours he has left.

“Be right there,” he says without looking up. Being a table and game dealer at Blockbuster’s casino, or officially the _Marcus Casino_ , seemed like a smart idea two weeks ago, now Dick can admit that ‘office hours’ barely ever add up with his nightly responsibilities. Even if it’s a good way to spy on the villain.

By the time he turns, his supervisor has left. With a sigh and a last wistful glance at the clock, he aims the dirty rag at the laundry, leaves his black west and tie thrown half-heartedly over the bar, and takes the five stories elevator to Roland Desmond’s office. It’s as fancy as he remembers it being, the aquarium just behind Desmond takes up the whole wall. His piranhas are eagerly shredding a piece of meat that dusts the water red.

“There you are, Grayson!”

Dick gazes at the man in the too big chair… too big now, but it would be just right for Blockbuster.

“What can I do for you, boss?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest as he addresses Desmond the way all the Casino dealers do. Desmond looks sleazy by default. It’s a wonder he is as successful as he is. People don’t usually trust guys like Desmond. Then again, this is Blüdhaven. And he actually pays well. Everyone. Desmond’s care towards Blüdhaven would be endearing if he weren’t a villain.

“Just a little chat about your performance so far. Your probation period is nearly over. Sit down, sit down!”

Dick nearly gnarls his teeth – any later and his chance to go out on patrol will be gone –, but he does as he is told, watching Desmond rummage through the dark wooden cupboard. It too seems to be designed for Blockbuster, not for a normal-sized person. Glass clinks together. Desmond returns with two fancy glasses and a bottle of surprisingly neither whiskey nor champagne. Dick stares at the sangria in bewilderment.

“Surprised?” Desmond enquires, amused. “My employees enjoy gossiping among themselves. I enjoy listening.”

It’s not as if Dick truly likes sangria that much, but it’s something he has been drinking after a well-done shift with the few employees he might’ve called his friends in a different life. The thing is, he planned to argue that he doesn’t drink. _Damn it._

“Thank you,” he replies. The smile on his face feels strained if only to him. Desmond’s grin turns brighter, the villain buying his faux pleasure.

“Let’s drink, and I’ll tell you why I called you up tonight.”

Dick would appreciate getting to the point, so he nods, clinks their glasses together, and takes a sip. As always, the alcohol still burns through the fruitiness. It nearly makes him grimace.

“Alright, so-- Visitors have increased since you started running the tables. And I can’t say I’m surprised,” a distracted smile flitters across Desmond’s face, as if – for a short time – he is far away, “People love to ogle a handsome young man, and if they lose to said handsome young man, they want to spite him even more. A seamless never-ending cycle begins.”

It’s been a while since he has been called out on his looks. And despite not considering himself to be superficial, he wonders if Desmond merely notices his features so much because he is… well, not the best-looking person in the room at any given time. His blond hair only starts growing from the middle of his head, is long enough to fall to his shoulders. It leaves him looking unkempt even though he is anything but.

His brow furrows, “Do you mean to increase my working hours?”

Desmond nods, pleased by the observation, “Exactly.”

Dick didn’t know that was possible during probation, is pretty sure it isn’t. He places the sangria back on the office desk, nearly missing his mark. His hand trembles. The liquid splashes in the half-empty glass. His eyes barely open again after his next blink. Had he drunken that much?

“I’ll have to think about that, thank you… boss,” he speaks, chest tight with apprehension. Something is wrong. So very, very wrong.

His legs give in the second he tries to straighten them. A firm grip around his biceps holds him above ground.

“I’d love to give such a good employee as yourself time to think this huge decision over, but I’m afraid I need your services right now, Grayson.”

He’s manhandled onto the villain’s lap, the side of his lax head resting against a shoulder. He feels weak, can’t even keep his head from his chest without a hand beneath his chin. The beady eyes stare at him. His mind is clear, but his muscles...

“A little counter drug to my own serum,” Desmond explains like all villains eventually do, much too proud of their accomplishments. His gaze trails over his features. Dick doesn’t know what he sees. “Relaxes muscles. Degreases strength.”

Panic rears its ugly head as the zipper of his black dress pants is opened, but his heartbeat doesn’t increase, his breathing remains calm. It makes him shudder though, and bitterness rises on his tongue as Desmond inspects his cock as if he has never seen something quite like it before.

“A grower, huh?” Something glints in his brown eyes. Dick only realizes why once Desmond speaks on. “So am I.”

He is shifted, forced to straddle the villain’s thighs. His chin lies on the already broad shoulder, his dead gaze reflects in the glass of the fish tank. Dick wishes he could see the dread he feels.

Fabric rips, his ass gets exposed first. Strong hands knead the flesh. Desmond’s hum resonates through his slack body.

“As gorgeous as I expected. Your plump chops would look good marinated. What do you think, Grayson? Something salty?”

Dick had expected a lot from Desmond, not this. His employees have never complained. The casino is legal for fuck’s sake.

Dick gasps when fingers spread his cheeks apart, or at least he wants to. His ass is raised, his spine bends sharply, chin knocking uncomfortably against the harsh shoulder. He doesn’t remember Desmond being this strong even without the Blockbuster serum.

“What a nice puckered hole,” Desmond muses. Dick can feel his gaze like fingers parting his flesh. “Never played with yourself before, Grayson? Not even a little bit?”

Desmond strokes over the sensitive skin.

“Hard to believe. You’re a guy called Dick.”

A finger presses against the muscle, and Dick wants to scream, but he can’t, and despite the dryness and the pain raising up his spine, the muscle parts for the intrusion easily, relaxed as it is.

The digit slips out again after the testing shove.

His muscle doesn’t close, gapes obscenely, waiting for the next abrasive but leisurely intrusion. It’s a shock. Humiliation warms his body. A firm hand grasps him by the throat. In the next moment, he dangles in front of Desmond, ripped pants barely clinging to his thighs, and his eyelids stay half-lidded, mouth parted.

Desmond rips his white shirt off, and the grin turns monstrous.

“Well, hello, Nightwing. I’m so glad to see you again.”

So, Desmond based his actions on a guess. Thinks the scars lining his body are enough confirmation. Dick can’t deny the words, doesn’t know if it would change anything. He is glad it’s him and not an innocent employee.

“I would’ve enjoyed the ass of simple Gotham trash, but yours is going to satisfy me way more. Gonna stuff you so full. Wreck you like you wrecked my operations at the docks.”

Correction. Innocent employee, hometown Gotham. He forgot how much Desmond hates ‘tourists’.

For some inane reason, Dick dearly wishes he could tell Desmond that he wasn’t born in Gotham. It’s slow-building fear, probably.

Desmond lets him go. Pain flares up, the wooden desk a harsh impact against his spine and shoulders and hips as he tumbles down like a puppet with cut strings. He concentrates on his fingers, strains to curl them, but all he can feel is papers sticking to his skin. His legs won’t close either.

“The amount you drank could have put a horse down. Glad it’s not strong enough to black-out a bat.”

Dick is too even if it doesn’t seem to help right now.

Desmond returns with a glass jar from wherever he went. Dick barely catches sight of it for a moment, but it looks thicker than lube. Orange in color.

“It’ll keep your tiny little hole adequately relaxed,” Desmond promises, tapping against his entrance. The substance feels like Vaseline. Thick yet creamy.

Past a certain point it won’t help anymore, he knows, and Desmond knows too.

There should be panic setting in by now, but the chemicals in his head aren’t enough. His heartbeat doesn’t pick up. His breathing does neither. He feels numb and frozen. His mind is only as clear as his body allows it to be.

Desmond doesn’t bother with one finger. Two shove into him at once, jolt him like he wants to jolt away and can’t. His sphincter catches on the thick knuckles, every ruthless push and pull is ripping at his skin, tugging him further open. He’ll tear soon. It’s a calm thought, a statement of a fact he can’t change. But Dick knows it should scare him, and the most frightening part shouldn’t be that he _will_ tear, but that Desmond has barely begun.

A third finger probes at him, nail carving into his skin as the flesh forces itself inside his tight passage.

Something rips. This time Dick screams, even if it barely sounds that way. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

Desmond laughs roughly, crooks his fingers with a playful smirk. And Dick stares and gasps as his hips and ass rise from the desk with the movement. Harsh nails scrape along his insides. A sob follows.

“Recovering fast, kid.” Desmond muses and clicks his tongue. “We can’t have that yet.”

The fingers spread out, ripping another wail from his throat. But his rectum gives into the cruel pressure, stretching out and out, more and more. Before he knows it, he is nearly spread around the villain’s fist. The knuckles dent his skin, then pop inside him so abruptly Dick hears his sphincter chirrup. It knocks the breath out of him. Heat trails through the point of contact. Dick tries to ignore what that means.

The fist is bumpy and heavy and sturdy; resembles a stone holding him down. His ass squeezes unwillingly, loose muscle fluttering around the wrist.

His cheeks are wet by now, face numb and cold. _Please_ , he wants to say, but his lips only move uselessly.

Desmond places a steady hand on his hip to fix him. Then he twists his fist. Sharp. Tears at Dick’s walls. Pinches them up. Dick screams, tries to roll away, get away. His sudden resistance only entices Desmond to go further, makes the villain punch his fist into his ass over and over again. Violently. Relentless. _Deeply._

Dick is lying on his stomach by the time the assault stops as suddenly as it started, he doesn’t know how he got there. His whole body is trembling. Stomach cramping. Bitter tasting spit smears over the desk and his lips. His ass burns, feels damp without the friction, gapes around the nothingness. Destroyed already. Undoubtedly, he is bleeding… more.

Desmond’s rough breathing reaches his ears even over his own violent heartbeat.

Dick attempts to push up, barely gets his quivering forearms beneath his body. A sudden hand at his shoulder shoves him down again. His jaw cracks against the wood, pain blooming. Dizzily, Dick blinks the dark spots away.

“’vh’?” the _why_ can’t cross his lips. Behind the _nos_ and _pleases_ and _don’ts_ his training kicks in despite the circumstances. Dick knows his villains. Desmond’s aggression—it’s coming out of nowhere.

Desmond laughs, swallows right after to get his breathing under control. “Why? Why, indeed. Shows how much you listen, kid. You’re an arrogant little tripper who thinks my city belongs to him. Even as Dick Grayson you have that snobbish Gotham vibe. I wanted to flay your ass open till I first saw it in Casino black pants.”

Fingers pick at the countless scars marring his back, interested in the ridges and knots of sealed but forever damaged skin as the hand travels down.

“I know you’re not gonna leave the Haven, Nightwing,” the hand pats his round ass condescendingly, matching the smug tone, “so, I’mma make you a real ‘haven bitch instead.”

As if the words aren’t enough, a broad cockhead nudges against his bare entrance. Dick wants to crawl away, but Desmond already has his legs in a secure grip, holding them apart in a split. Dick feels scrawny despite his muscular frame. Expects his limbs to break like twigs if he resists.

Dick gasps as the large shaft slips into him without resistance. It doesn’t feel thick enough, doesn’t fill him up good enough. His hole feels shapeless and bizarre. A sob leaves his throat. It’s an intrusive thought. That he thinks that way even though he knows it won’t be long until he will be stretched out further, it’s--

Desmond relaxes back into the chair, pulling him along and onto his lap in one smooth motion, never losing the deep contact. The strong hips move experimentally, cock bumping up into him until he bounces and wobbles on the heated wet cock like a—like a—

“Such a filthy whore,” Desmond growls, pulling him nearer to plaster him along the broad chest with a hand curved around his throat. It leaves soon after, hands splaying over his thighs to push them further apart until his feet are forced to lock behind Desmond’s ankles. Dick sobs when the balls slip inside him too. A rough laugh later, Desmond is rubbing them up with an appreciating groan. Whatever the substance is Desmond used to prepare him doesn’t leave his ass slicked. He can feel pre-cum stick to his walls where the erection jostles inside him, knows where he is bleeding. It messes with his head so much he can’t help the sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Now,” Desmond groans, hands splaying back over his thighs, “Let me see just how much my cock can grow inside of you.”

“Nuh!” he tries to shout; _no_ half caught in his throat. He needs to get away – _pleasepleaseplease_ –, but his vision blurs the second he tries, weak body collapsing against the villain. There is no way to know why. The drugs. The strange lube. His injuries. Maybe it’s the combination.

The vein on Desmond’s forehead bulges, his grin bright and heartless. For the first agonizing second, it feels unbearably good because the swelling flesh fills him out just right. Solid but soft and warm, and Dick lets out a surprised moan, eyes wide, then it keeps growing. Pushes him apart bit by bit. The solid thickness grinds against his hips, drives them apart slowly but surely, stretching his ligaments. It’s excruciating on its own. But it’s not only the girth. The cock extends, reaching deeper and deeper inside of him, makes space where there should be none. Acid lies on his tongue.

He doesn’t know when Desmond stops transforming into the beast he has fought on rooftops. Even a twitch is too much. A large hand, more a paw, brushes over his bulging and stretched belly—really body. His chest is carving out too. It’s as if he can feel the tip of Desmond’s cock at the back of his throat.

It hurts, it all hurts. More than that, it’s breaking him. His breath hitches when Desmond tugs at his flaccid cock with two fingers that feel far bigger than the flesh they are teasing.

"Didn't think you could do it, Nightwing," Desmond acknowledges, one of the large hands brushing up the length of his body yet again. Dick's breath catches as soon as the whole hand engulfs his head. Blinding him. Its heaviness alone puts pressure onto his bones. A high sound escapes him, heart rapidly fluttering in his chest.

“I won't do that, yet, little hero," Desmond chuckles, pulling his head back by his hair. "I still need to finish a report for the casino. I was quite impulsive in my… mission to acquire you. But don’t fret. I’ll give you the attention you deserve very, very soon.”

“Although,” Desmond admits after a moment, “By the time I'm done, I want your little prick erect. A lifeless squishy worm is an eyesore on a whore."

Dick breaths through his nose, tries to calm down. It comes out as a feeble noise, not whine, not cry. Just a shrill sound that might as well have emerged from a whistling tea cattle.

Desmond grins, leaning forward. The motion nearly makes Dick blackout, maybe he does. His eyes cross multiple times in a dizzying frenzy. All that holds him up is the massive cock squishing his innards. He tries to control his breath; struggles to imagine the ways this might feel good. It doesn’t. The angle makes the cockhead poke at his lungs twice as harshly. Every small jolt sets his body aflame in hellish pain. That his ass has been blown out seems horribly trivial now.

A thickset hand is placed on his stomach, presses him up against the broad chest. Dick gags, legs uselessly twitching. He barely has any feeling in them left. Desmond hums, satisfied, faintly squeezing his tortured body to stimulate the enormous cock within, never ceasing to scribble onto the paper.

Dick’s arms too, begin to lose their feeling. He can barely curl his fingers. They grow stiffer by the second.

A thumb pushes against his balls, rolls them absentmindedly. They feel tiny and flimsy beneath the massive finger. Dick’s breathing quickens. The wheezing of his breath and the strain beneath his chest spill more tears past his dark wet lashes. They gather at his nose, drop down. All too slowly the heat begins to gather in his loins, not easing the throbbing pain, but giving him something to concentrate on as the pleasant feeling spreads like thin tendrils through his traumatized body.

By the time Desmond leans back, easing a little of the white-hot pressure cracking his rips apart, his little prick has been nursed to half-mast, and Dick isn’t sure if that’s enough, or for what it should be enough in the first place. Two fingers gently squeeze the tip of his flimsy flesh, then squeeze it again, keeping that rhythm up. Large fingertips tease his nipples, the strangely prominent friction ridges catching on his sensitive skin, slowly working the little nubs to hardness. The engorged phallus still lies heavily within him, but without movement, it barely hurts. Or at least Dick can drown the throbbing out. Much too used to pain, even this intense.

"Impressive," Desmond rumbles, stimulating him further. Even erect his cock doesn’t seem larger than a toothpick between Desmond’s hands, and Dick doesn't want to, but he closes his eyes, shivers overtaking him. It’s a slow descent, muscles tightening more and more ever so slightly. Then his cock begins to pulse. Hips twitching too, spiking fresh pain through his torso. Ripping his vision away for a second. Mere droplets of cum splash against the large and meaty fingers. His prick meekly spurting like a damaged hose without pressure.

"Oh, Nightwing, I haven’t even speared you properly yet," Desmond teases, licking the meager amount of seed from his fingers, nonetheless.

“The base of my cock feels so cold without your devoted attention.”

Thick warm arms push beneath his useless thighs, pressing him up. Dick nearly blacks out for a second time, even though the easing of tension should bring him relief. His hips burn, the thick flared mushroom head widens his torn and loose muscle. The paws interlock behind his flimsy neck, much too large. For a second, he hangs in the air like a rotisserie chicken waiting to be popped back on the grill. He barely has time to catch the blue and red hues layered across his body, most prominent at his swelling hips.

Then Desmond rams him onto his gigantic cock, stuffs him full – above and beyond what his body can take. Dick doesn’t know if he is screaming or not as his insides rearrange, bones breaking. The heated and churning balls press against his thighs, the size of thick fat melons.

Dick wonders _(-- tight little)_ why he is still alive _(-- hot all)_ as his body gets used past its breaking point.

Reality _(-- God)_ slides away _(-- dirty slut)_ from him.

The heavy hand _(-- break you)_ atop his head, dunks him down _(-- fill)_ again and again as the cock drills ever deeper _(-- make)_ merely to snap back _(-- for me)_ before carving him out all over again.

The sudden taste of musky salt on the back of his tongue is all the warning he gets. Then the sperm drips from his nose, spurts past his lips. Suffocates him.

His tears carve white glittering lines down his cheeks.

Utterly broken, Dick slumps against the monster as the hard length finally grows soft.

Desmond’s strong puffs of air move the massive chest Dick is lying on, but all he can hear is his own rattling, barely-there breathing. A content little moan leaves Desmond, body shifting slightly.

A large palm delicately brushes over his inflated belly. Dick’s eyes cross when the cum sloshes inside of him and Desmond hums, pushing down on top of his bulging and bloated belly until cum sprays out of his ass, destroyed muscle unable to hold the liquid in despite the flaccid cock keeping him plugged and full. More cum bubbles past his lips, out of his nose. The second the pressure falls away a slurping sound slices through the room. Loud and sharp. The flayed muscle vibrates violently, forcing a cry past Dick’s soaking lips that only emerges as a gurgle. Sweat inducing pain blooms throughout his chest.

Desmond laughs heartily, caressing his distended stomach. A heavy thumb flicks at his protruding bellybutton, then fondles it properly as if it might just pop off.

“Looks like someone knocked you up real good, Nightwing,” Desmond comments, trailing his hand down to tug at the lifeless worm between Dick’s legs before meaty fingers find his soggy puffed out rim, “Hmm—I should be able to patch you up again. A few people I can call… I’ve been searching for a proper cock sleeve. Really hard to find for my size. As you might be able to tell.”

Dick hates him. Hates those words.

A hand under his chin forces his head back. His eyes fall half-open like a puppet’s. His jaw doesn’t want to close. He wishes he were dead.

“But what am I talking about? Of course, it wouldn’t do letting go of you before your probation period is over. That’s bad form. Especially for the speaker of the Business Leaders of Tomorrow. I have a reputation to lose.”

A thick finger pushes into his slack mouth, fingertip dragging the potent sperm from his tongue. Desmond exhales, long and slow. Dick moves with the shift.

“You performed astonishingly well, kid.”

It’s a soft exclamation, nearly gentle. The large hands settle onto his unnaturally pronounced hips, teasing along the curves of the sleek bones down to his equally as deformed pubic arch. His skin pulses, swollen and inflamed.

“But before we can get our Blüd up again, some adjustments might be in order.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [Citizenship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358090/chapters/58739968)


End file.
